Cinderella
by Laterose
Summary: 6th year hols: Harry and Ron happen to chance by Malfoy's house when they discover Melody, a servant to Draco's whim. But who is she really and what horrors will Draco unleash on her? Rated for incestual abuse.


**Well, I finally got around to posting this. It's a one chapter sixth year short story involving explicit scenes of intimate sexual abuse. **

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Title: Cinderella

Author: Laterose

Rating: R for scenes of intimate incestual abuse

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Mr and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. 

A year after the birth of Harry Potter, the son of Petunia Dursley's sister, peculiar things began happening all over the country. 

At first, Petunia and Vernon thought that it couldn't possibly have anything to do with them, until that fateful morning, while putting out the empty milk bottles, Petunia Dursley had discovered a baby, wrapped in a blanket, and a letter on her front doorstep. 

It turned out that this boy was in fact, Harry Potter, he was a wizard, and Lord Voldemort had killed both his parents. 

Well, you all know that part of the story. _Everyone_ knows that part of the story. 

It was about six years later, when one of the servants of Lord Voldemort had a similar experience to that of Petunia Dursley had on that morning after the Potter's deaths. 

He was sitting in his study, contemplating, and twirling a quill between his fingers. He did that a lot - contemplating, that is. His seven-year-old son was sitting quietly on the chair next to him, watching what he was doing. 

This silence was unusual for this particular boy. He was usually screaming and shouting or whining about something or other. His mother doted on him. The man was sure, however, that his son would one day be a great politician. He didn't have any particular reason for this prophetic belief. He merely calculated that since he, himself was a great politician; it was only logical that his son would be as well.

He was just contemplating this, quite comfortably, when he heard a loud scream from downstairs. 

He was up in a flash, his wand in his hand and his son behind his back.

What came bursting into the room then, was not an angry ministry official, or a revenging Death Eater, both of which he might have expected, but something much worse.

His wife.

She was red in the face, causing an interesting contrast with her blonde hair, waving a piece of paper in the air, and dragging behind her… a little girl?

"Look at this!" she yelled at him, waving the piece of paper in his face. "Look at this!"

"Yes, dear," he said, quite calmly, taking the paper from her but still staring at the little girl – who stared resolutely back at him. 

He opened the paper and forced his eyes down to read it. 

"_My dearest Lucius,_" it began. 

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It was one of those rare days in England when the noon sun shone brightly and warmly over both Wizard and Muggle families. 

In the northern end of the village of Little Balefire, however, no one really seemed to care. 

"It's awfully dull, isn't it?" said Ron cheerfully, as they walked down the empty streets. 

"It suits the people who live here," said Mr. Weasley, as he led the two boys down an alleyway that led into the southern half of the village.

Mr. Weasley sighed. He hated coming to this dark, tasteless village, where all the snobs of the wizarding world resided, on the very edge of the Muggle community of Wiltshire. He knew, however, that when business called, someone eventually had to answer the door. 

It was bringing the two boys down here that was against his better judgement. He'd much rather have left them at home – but Molly wouldn't hear of it, and he always did what Molly wanted him to do. 

The entire family was out for the day – Ginny at a friend's house and Molly shopping in the village. Arthur had tentatively suggested that she take the boys with her, but she had informed him, roughly, that she did not want them under her feet.

Leaving them in the house was, of course, out of the question. Arthur sighed again. He wasn't looking forward to reaching their final destination. He was likely to be indisposed for hours, and he couldn't subject his son and his best friend to just waiting around in _that house_. Nor could he let them in on the meeting. _Much_ to risky. 

Harry Potter sauntered along beside Ron and his Dad. He certainly didn't object to a day out – but now that he was here…

What bothered him was that the only people he could see were gardeners, popping outside for a minute or two to straighten the lawns and flowerbeds with the flick of a wand. This had surprised him, until Ron had reminded him that Great Balefire was a completely wizarding village.  

Where were the people who actually lived in these houses? Protecting themselves from the sun? Ron said that everyone who lived here were snobs who preferred not to live where there were Muggles within shouting distance. He could well believe it.

What was worse, he kept thinking he could hear singing, clear, sweet singing, but every time he really tried to listen to it, it wasn't there anymore. It was driving him mad, but he said nothing of it.

"Why are you rubbing your ears?" Ron asked.

"Oh, nothing," Harry said quickly.

Harry was staying at the Burrow for the last two weeks of the summer holiday after fifth year. Dumbledore had given no reason for this, only his permission. This would normally have made Harry extremely suspicious, but he was so glad to be spending at least part of the holiday with his friends that he didn't care all that much.

They stopped outside a tall, thin, building, and Mr. Weasley rang the doorbell. A footman with a drab expression answered the door. 

"Arthur Weasley," Mr. Weasley introduced himself. 

"Just inside, sir," drawled the footman. "You are expected." He looked down his nose at the two boys, apparently not recognizing Harry. 

Arthur turned to them both. "You two stay close to the house," he said. "And no going near _you-know-where_," he said to Ron. 

Ron nodded, and the boys turned away. When the door closed, Harry asked, incredulously, "He's just letting us wander around by ourselves?"

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't want us listening in on whatever he's doing. Why did he have to bring us, anyway? We would have been ok by ourselves."

"Mm," said Harry, and then, unable to hold it in any longer, he asked, "So, what's _you know where_?"

"What? Oh, that," said Ron. "That's Malfoy's place."

"_What_?"

"Yeah, just around the corner, up the north end – well, the south end of Wiltshire actually, so they can be snobs _and _rich... Dad used to come here all the time, and he kept catching me, Fred and George rooting around outside. He doesn't like us going over there. Can't think why," he added, sarcastically. 

"_Malfoy_ lives _here_?" 

"Yep," said Ron, and then turned to Harry with a grin. "Want to take a look?"

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Harry stared up at the gigantic building. It was almost completely black, forbidding, monotonous, surrounded by a high wall, but above everything else – huge.

"That's it?" he asked Ron.

"That's it. Looks quiet, doesn't it? Usually they've got a ton of visitors. Guess they stopped coming when old Malfoy went to Azkaban."

"Now what?"

"I dunno. This is usually as far as we went…"

"Shhhh!" Harry said quickly, listening. There it was again – he could _definitely_ hear it this time, sweet and clear, the sound of an unschooled girl's voice singing into the gloominess. 

"Do you hear that?"

"Yeah…"

"Where's it coming from?"

"Not sure… sounds like it's from around the other side… Harry, come back!"

But it was too late; Harry was already speeding around to the other side of the house, keeping close to the wall and looking up all the time as though he might somehow be able to see over it. 

Ron sighed, and ran after him. Eventually, when they were on the side of the house facing the opposite street, Harry stopped, and Ron leaned against the wall, panting.

"What's the rush?" he asked. 

"I didn't want her to leave," said Harry. 

"Whoever she is," said Ron. "Harry, this is Malfoy's house we're talking about, it's unlikely to be anyone worth risking your life to chat to, is it?"

"I don't know…" Harry was in a daze. The voice was like a magnet, drawing him to it as though something warm had been wrapped around him and was pulling him gently. 

He looked up. The wall wasn't really all that high – and look, there was a tree that hung almost directly over the spot the voice was coming from.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

It was a good tree, with nice, strong, low branches and higher ones to grab onto. "Come on!" Harry called, as quietly as possible.

"What are you –?"

"Shhhh! I want to see who it is."

Ron grumbled and muttered a bit, but he climbed up after his friend.

Harry slid along a branch until he was half way along the distance to the wall. He was almost there – he could almost see…

"Harry, would this be a really bad time to tell you I'm a bit nervous about heights?"

Harry glared at him, speaking under his breath. "Don't give me that – you flew your dad's car – and you love Quidditch!"

"That was a car and a broomstick. This is a rotten old tree branch about fifteen foot from the ground."

Harry shook his head at him and slid the remaining distance along the branch. 

He couldn't look at first. Despite his calm attitude, and the lure of the music – there _was _the question of falling out of this tree and never finding out who the voice belonged to – never mind breaking a few things he needed rather badly. 

Closing his eyes tight, he grabbed onto the three-foot thick wall top and pulled himself onto it so that he lay just out of sight of anyone who chanced to look up on either side. 

He felt Ron slide into position beside him. Then he opened his eyes.

It was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen – including his mother, Hermione, and even Cho Chang. She looked about thirteen years old, with chestnut coloured hair that billowed out in waves down her back from underneath a white maid's cap. 

She wore a plain black dress with white buttons down the front and a white collar, and she was hanging various items of clothing, mainly robes, on a washing line on the edge of an enormous lawn lined with flowerbeds. 

Near her, in a large wired kennel, slept three, enormous, black dogs. It was a scene straight out of the middle ages, and Harry was captivated by it. 

It was she who sang, her voice appearing to dance upon the wind, her bare feet dancing slightly on the grass. 

_"The garden changes through the day_

_Though clever we, we notice not_

_We sit inside the warmth and dry,_

_We watch, and watch, and wait, for what?_

_The grass glows green in morning light_

_For all its leaves are damp with dew_

_The owls go home, to bed, at last, _

_As morning starts, so bright, so new._

_A sleek earthworm wiggles his way_

_Through newly watered, clean, sweet earth,_

_A row of tulips open wide _

_Their petals bright on this new birth._

_A lark sings succulent and shrill_

_A clear clean, unwavering song_

_A queen bee buzzes in her hive_

_She sees her children join the throng._

_The skies, once clear, begin to grey_

_A sudden shower sweeps the ground_

_A rainbow proudly stands erect_

_The sunshine doesn't make a sound._

_The frogs emerge from murky pond_

_And sing their thoughts about the day_

_The lark lends them his ear a while_

_Trills in disgust, then flies away._

_As evening falls, the owls awake,_

_Majestic rise, like silver kings_

_And fairy-like, a butterfly,_

_Alights on sunset tinted-wings."_

"What's _that_?" said Ron, unable to hide a little disgust, looking at the cord strung between two trees.

"It's a washing line," said Harry, still staring at the girl. 

"A…?"

"You hang clothes on it, to dry."

"That's stupid. Why don't they just do it by magic?"

"I dunno…"

"Well, we've seen her now. Has that satisfied your curiosity?"

Harry was about to say, no, it hadn't by a long shot, when a shout from inside the house cut the girl's song short suddenly – as though it had been cut with a knife. 

"Girl!! I can _hear_ you dawdling out there – what do you think you're doing?"

The girl promptly dropped the large black robe she'd been holding, then picked it up again quick as a flash.

"Nothing, miss," she said, jumping in order to throw the huge robe over the line. Her speaking voice was just as beautiful as when she sang, Harry thought.

"Well, it _shouldn't_ be nothing! Hurry up, will you!"

"Yes, miss," the girl called back. 

"We've guests in an hour!" 

"Yes miss!"

"And feed the dogs!"

"Yes, miss!"

The girl waited a moment, as if awaiting further orders, then commenced her work, humming to herself as though in defiance.

"All right," Ron whispered, leaning forward over the wall so that if he fell he would definitely fall on the wrong side. "Now _I'm _curious."

The girl – perhaps because she had none of her own singing to mask the noise the boys had been making, whipped around, dropped another of the damp robes in the grass – also black, but noticeably smaller. 

She put her hands to her mouth as she stared at them, her eyes huge in her face. Those eyes were a piercing shade of blue, almost as if…

"Who are you?" she whispered, glancing nervously over her shoulder as if to check whether anyone was listening. "If you are here for Master Draco, the front gate should be open, I just opened…"

"Oh, no, we're not," said Harry, very quickly. 

"Oh," said the girl. She didn't seem to be able to work out what she was supposed to do now.

"May I help you, masters?" she asked, bobbing a little curtsey, never once taking her eyes off them. Harry glanced at Ron. 

"We're here to see you, actually," he said, carefully. 

Her eyes narrowed. 

"I think you've dropped something," said Ron, helpfully, nodding at the robe in the grass. 

The girl gasped and picked it up brushing dirt off the back. "Oh no! This is Master Draco's – I'll be for it now – someone's bound to notice…" 

"Why isn't someone doing it by magic?" Ron asked. "I thought the Malfoy's despised all kinds of Muggle contraptions."

"Oh, they do," the girl agreed, then clapped her hands to her mouth – extraordinarily like a house elf. "Forgive me, masters," she said, lowering her trembling hand. 

"For what?" said Ron. "It's the truth."

"Well…" the girl put the robe back in the basket and moved a little closer. "Are you really here to see me?"

"Er… yes," said Harry. 

The girl looked doubtful, but she suddenly dropped her mouse-ish manner. 

"What do you want then?" she asked. 

"Oh," said Ron, taken aback, "We were just wondering…"

"Yes?"

"I mean, we thought…"

"What?"

Ron looked a little blank, as if he wasn't sure what to do now. 

Harry filled the silence by saying, "You don't go to Hogwarts, do you?"

The girl suddenly looked sad. "No," she said. "I don't."

"But you are a witch?"

She glared at him. "I should certainly hope so!"

"Oh. Where do you go to school, then?"

Her eyes suddenly filled with repressed tears, and Harry saw that he had touched a nerve. "I don't," she said, simply, and turned away. She grabbed Malfoy's robe again and flung it over the cord, viciously. 

"Oh. Why not?" asked Ron. Harry glared at him, again.

"Hogwarts sent a letter," said the girl, as she grabbed a cloak. "But my father sent a letter saying he'd rather I was tutored."

A horrible suspicion began to grow in Harry's mind.

"And are you?" he asked. 

"Am I what?" 

"Tutored."

She looked back up at him, painfully slowly. "No."

"But why?" said Harry, his suspicions confirmed. "Why wouldn't your father want you not to learn magic?"

"He'd rather no one knew about me," she said, turning away again, her hands clutching another black robe. "He doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Why not?" said Ron, asking the inevitable question. 

"I – I'm not supposed to say."

"You can tell us," said Harry. "We won't tell your Dad if you don't."

She smiled – if a slightly watery one. "Well," she said. "I'm really not meant to tell _anyone _this – but Lucius Malfoy is my father."

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There was a stunned silence. 

"Your _father?_" exclaimed Ron.

"Yes," she said, barely audible above the sudden breeze that had caught up in the garden. A long, floaty nightgown, no doubt belonging to Mrs. Malfoy, fluttered off the line and landed in the grass. The girl snatched it up hastily and threw it back on. 

"But… but you're…" Harry tried, wondering how to phrase it without hurting her feelings. 

"A servant?" she suggested, her expression hidden behind a fold of cloth. 

"Well…"

"Master Malfoy is hardly proud of me," she said matter-of-factly, though Harry noticed her reach up to rub at her eyes. 

"Why?" Ron, ever tactless, asked.

She turned to face him, her face red, from anger or sadness Harry couldn't tell. "Do you always ask this many questions?" she asked Ron.

"Yes, he does," Harry cut in before Ron could answer. "But – I have to admit – it's enough to make anybody curious."

She clutched yet another black robe to her chest, stroking its velvet-like texture with a small hand. "Master Draco goes to Hogwarts," she said quietly. "Hasn't he ever talked about me?"

"No," Harry said, truthfully. 

"Doesn't that answer your question?"

Harry glanced at Ron before saying, "Well, no, not really…"

She sighed. "My mother was a servant here," she said. "He kicked her out when he found out she was pregnant. She died when I was five. I came here."

"But surely your mother had family…" Harry said, unable to understand.

"She did," the girl said wistfully. "But she left a letter with her will to my father, asking him to look after me."

"Looks like he did a fine job of it," Ron growled.

The girl seemed to take offence at this. "I'm clothed," she said. "I'm fed. I earn my keep."

"You're a servant," Harry pointed out. 

"No worse off than the other servants," the girl said, just loud enough for them to hear; yet they saw from the brightness in her eyes that she was lying. 

There was a pause. "How old are you?" Harry asked. 

"Thirteen," she answered.

"What's your name?"

She met his eyes. "They call me Ella."

This took a moment to get from his ears to his brain. He suddenly felt hot rage surging through him. "And your real name?" he growled.

She started. "How did you know it wasn't my real name?" she asked, incredulously. 

"Never mind," said Harry.

Suddenly, a voice called from within the house.

"I have to go," said Ella. 

"Your name," said Harry. 

She made to leave, throwing the last robe haphazardly over the line. 

"Tell me your name," said Harry, desperately. 

"I must go," she said. "They'll come looking for me – you must go too…"

"Your name!"

"Girl! What are you doing out there?"

"Please, you must go –"

"Come _on_, Harry –"

"Your name!"

She looked behind her desperately, and then back up at him. "My name is Melody."

Harry smiled. It was so perfect his heart ached. 

"Harry Potter," he told her. He ducked behind the wall and onto the branch, shinnying down the tree to meet Ron at the bottom. Without a second glance they ran straight back to the old house Mr. Weasley had entered. 

After they had caught their breath Ron asked, "So – how did you know Ella wasn't her real name?"

Harry growled. 

"Come on, spill." 

"The bastards," Harry spat. "One of the maids must have known the story – it's a Muggle story after all – the absolute bastards…"

"Er… Harry?"

Harry turned to look him straight in the eyes. "Cinderella."

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Ella stood stock still, staring into the now empty space above the wall. _Harry Potter?_

No. It couldn't be. Not – not _the _Harry Potter. 

"Girl!"

Ella spun around. It was Cook, and she was angry. Ella ducked a swing from an overenthusiastic wand, which spat sparks at her, reflecting Cook's mood. 

"What – have – I – told – you – about – lazing – around?" Cook yelled at her between swings with wand and fists. Ella ducked them all neatly. She was used to ducking – it was easy. The only time you had to get worried was when they had you cornered. 

"I put up all the washing, Cook!" Ella tried to say, but Cook gave her a gigantic push back onto the grass that she failed to dodge. 

"Feed those damnated dogs!" Cook demanded. "And then make yourself scarce. The Master's got visitors, and they're not the type to look over your scruffy mop." Cook tugged her hair cruelly.

Ella knew what that meant. Visitors from the Ministry. No one ever minded about her being around when anyone else was in the house – only the Ministry. It seemed that some things that had been the same when Lucius Malfoy was the Master would not change now that his son had stepped into his shoes. 

Ella heard all the talk. She knew that the Ministry were enemies of the Malfoys, and the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were allies. She knew also that people such as Arthur Weasley and Harry Potter always got in the way of things. For this reason, she had always wanted to meet them. 

And now she had. _Harry Potter._ He'd looked about the right age. With black hair and startling green eyes that had seemed to bore into her very soul once she had told her his name. How had he known that she had another name? Her very own name, that she whispered to herself every night to remind herself that she had a past, if not a future. Why had he wanted to know? 

Ella fed the dogs – very carefully. They were used to her now, and did not growl at her as she left the huge hanks of meat in the stone bowls, as they had done when she was little and made her cry – but any sign of her doing anything unusual or out of place and they'd be on her. 

Ella had tried to pat one once. She still had the scars. 

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"The cheek of it!" Mr. Weasley exploded the moment they were out of earshot. "I waited a whole hour to be dismissed!"

"Dismissed?" said Ron in disbelief. "You mean he didn't see you?"

"The cheek of it!" his father yelled again. The loud noise in the deadly quiet street was eerie. Harry could no longer hear singing.

"When are you coming back?" Ron asked, with a glance at Harry. 

"Tomorrow."

"Can me and Harry come with you?"

"Oh – your mother will be home tomorrow, I'm sure you don't want to be anymore bored than you were today…"

"We weren't bored," Harry interjected quickly. "The village was really… interesting…"

"Yeah," said Ron, seeing Harry trail off. "We, er… we haven't quite finished exploring."

And so it was that Harry and Ron found themselves the next day outside Malfoy Manor estate for the second time. 

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Ella grabbed the washing basket away from Annie Mumpus, the Laundry girl who didn't really have much of a job, since she was lazier than a sloth and whined to Cook to 'ask' Ella to do all her work. 

"Eager today, aren't you?"

"No," Ella stated firmly. "I just want to get finished." 

"There're dishes to wash after."

"That's not my job."

Annie glared at her. "I don't care. You'll do it anyway. Now go put the washing on that line before I hex you."

Ella left. The staff had increased vastly since Dobby the House Elf had left, and the workload had steadily risen as people started to realise how much the skittish little creature had actually done. The Malfoy family had been unable to get another one, so had needed to fork out very slightly to hire some full time 'invisible' servants. 

Ella was the servant's House Elf. 

She didn't begrudge Dobby his freedom. They'd been good friends, although she had to be careful not to say anything too rebellious in front of him. Even though she, technically, was a member of the Malfoy family, Lucius Malfoy was the senior and she was never sure whether everything she said or did was reported to _him._ She wasn't quite sure about how Dobby had escaped, but she was pretty sure that Harry Potter had had something to do with it. 

_Harry Potter._

He was there! He was, he truly was, with his redheaded friend beside him. They were waiting for her. 

"Melody!" they waved and called her over. 

"Shhhh," she whispered, looking over her shoulder. 

"We want to help you," Harry told her. 

"How?"

"We're going to get you out."

"How?" she repeated. 

"Look – can you _prove_ that Lucius Malfoy is your father?"

Ella's face fell for a moment. Then she remembered. "Yes, I can!" Triumphantly she whipped a piece of paper from her pocket. "It's pretty much the only thing I have of my mother's." She wrapped the parchment around a stone and threw it up to them. 

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Harry caught it with amazing speed. He unfolded the yellowing parchment. It read:

_My Dearest Lucius,_

_I write this on my deathbed, dearest one. I am stricken with a magical illness no doctor can cure. I no longer care for life, but I do care for this child, our Melody. I understand you now, Lucius. You really and truly loved me, but you let me and our child go because with us you would not have been able to uphold your social standing, which was what I first admired in you. I ask you now to do what you could not do then – to take care of this daughter you must be able to see as your own. Please teach her to read and write and be the greatest witch she can possibly be. I ask you in the name of the love that we once shared, and I still feel for you,_

_Your Beloved Harmony._

"Right then," said Harry, tucking the letter into his pocket. "Tonight we'll meet you here with help. We'll get you over the wall. Bring everything you need."

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Ella tried not to let her heart burst with excitement. "Sometimes they lock me in at nights."

"All right, tomorrow afternoon then," Harry dismissed her protest.

Ella's eyes filled with tears, and she wiped them on one of Lucius Malfoy's black robes that surprisingly kept turning up in the wash even though he wasn't in the house. Ella got the feeling that she was washing the same clothes over and over again without anyone actually wearing them. 

She glanced sideways. "The dogs…"

"We'll take care of it. Here, tomorrow, same time, right? Oh – and, Melody?"

"Yes?"

"See if you can get some proof that Draco Malfoy's a Death Eater, can you?"

"But he's not," Ella said, confused. "Not yet."

"Well – do what you can."

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

Ella couldn't say anything for a moment, her throat was too dry. She looked him straight in the eye and he smiled at her. No one had ever smiled at her like that before – only her mother. 

"Thank you."

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"Nice idea," said Ron when they got back to the ground. "It'll be brilliant to get her out of there – and a bonus if we dig up anything on Malfoy."

"Thanks," said Harry, in a daze quite like the one he'd been in yesterday. "Now – how are we going to tell your dad about this?"

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_'There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,_

_There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,_

_The corn is as high as an elephant's eye,_

_And it looks like it's climbing clear up to the sky…_

_Oh what a beautiful morning,_

_Oh what a beautiful day,_

_I've got a beautiful feeling,_

_Everything's going my way._

_All the cattle are standing like statues,_

_All the cattle are standing like statues,_

_They don't turn their heads when they see my ride by…_

_But a little brown maverick is winking her eye…_

_Oh what a beautiful morning,_

_Oh what a beautiful day,_

_I've got a beautiful feeling,_

_Everything's going my way._

_All the sounds of the earth are like music,_

_All the sounds of the earth are like music,_

_The breeze is so busy it don't miss a tree…_

_And an old weeping willow is laughing at me… _

_Oh what a beautiful morning,_

_Oh what a beautiful day,_

_I've got a beautiful feeling,_

_Everything's going my way.'_

Ella sang as she hung up the washing. She was happy. She was happy for the first time in years – ever since Liselle had left. Liselle had been her best friend. She was only about nineteen, but she was kind and gentle, and spared Ella all the work that she could. 

She'd taught Ella all the basics of life, saying it was necessary for her to be taught before she had to find out the hard way, and they'd spent hours in Ella's tiny room giggling over some ridiculous comment. 

Liselle had taught Ella nearly all of the songs she knew now – and filled in the gaps from some of the one's her mother had sang to her, but she couldn't quite remember. 

Ella had learned about humour – about having fun. She had been miserable before that, ever since she'd arrived at Malfoy manor at the age of five. Liselle had come when she was eight, and left three years ago, when Ella was ten. 

Ella didn't know how old Liselle was – she must be about twenty by now. Ella hoped she was happy. 

It was all Ella's fault Liselle had been sacked, she knew. If Liselle had treated her just the same as all the others, then maybe Liselle would have stayed. But she was far to kind. Far too… _good._

Good, like Harry was. Harry was going to save her. She was on top of the world. 

"If I was Queen of the World 

_A very fine queen I'd be,_

_I'd build a bridge across the ocean_

_A bridge across the sea,_

_And I'll marry a farmer _

_With an honest face_

_And put all the princes_

_In their rightful place_

_I'd build bridges across the ocean,_

_A staircase to the stars_

_A staircase to the moon_

_I'll do all these things soon_

_And I'll touch the heaven with my voice,_

And I'll touch the heavens –" 

_He_ was there. At the main entrance, yards away, watching her. Ella worked faster, trying not to look at him as he walked closer. He was coming to see the dogs. 

Draco Malfoy gave her a contemptuous glance as he entered the dog kennels. The huge animals came whining and licking at his boots. He scratched them behind the ears, laughing coldly. 

Ella finished – and fled. 

@C@I@N@D@E@R@E@L@L@A@

The Malfoy Manor was home to more secret passages, it was rumoured, than Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Years ago, before Lucius Malfoy had been born, there had been a guest to the Manor who'd said that he doubted this, and was sent on an unguided tour of the Manor to prove his point. He'd never been seen again. This was a story of great entertainment at dinner parties. 

One of the passages was from the kitchens straight into the bedchambers of Lucius – but now Draco - Malfoy. Hardly anyone knew about it, and those who did were obliviated in such a way that they only remembered it was there when _they _needed to use it, and not when they wanted to tell someone else. 

This worked quite well, except they forgot the fact that after nine odd years in the Manor, the longest recorded time of any servant of the Malfoys – one learned things that one was not supposed to know. 

Ella slipped silently behind the enormous fire oven in the corner, hardly ever used nowadays because of its awkwardness. She ran her fingers over the panels until she found the crack, then eased it open and slid into the opening. A larger person could not have done it. 

It was a long journey, in the dark, and very uphill, so that when she got to the bottom eventually, she was winded, tired, and practically blind so that she bumped into the wall when she reached it. 

She knew Draco wasn't in there – he was out with the dogs – but what if Annie Mumpus or someone had heard her? 

She stood still in the dark, waiting for the door to slam open, but it didn't. Cautiously she pushed the portrait aside. 

Draco Malfoy's bedroom was the most beautiful room Ella had ever seen. It was bedecked in green, silver and black, a giant poster bed laid out in the centre, a huge dog footed desk covered with scraps of parchment, portraits lining the walls. 

The portraits. 

They all sneered at her as she closed the secret door behind her, whereupon the portrait that hid it said, "Well, look who it is."

"Hush, you," she said, trying to be brave. _She was leaving tomorrow. It didn't matter. _

She wandered over to the desk, leafing through the papers until she found what she wanted. 

_To Mr. D. Malfoy,_

_We are glad that you accepted our previous offer to enter our Master's service in the footsteps of your esteemed father. The initiation ceremony will take place at noon tomorrow. _

_We hope you remember that before you can be initiated, you must commit an act of murder, rape, incestuous abuse, and so on and so forth, and bring to us evidence of your actions. Because you are 'underage' you will need to perform the aforementioned without the use of a wand._

_We – _

Suddenly she heard footsteps on the stairs outside the main door. Her heart pounding, she dropped the letter and ducked behind the portrait. Down the passageway she ran, down and down, until she hit the opposite wall with a smack. 

Head throbbing, she pushed the door open, ducked out from behind the oven, ran through the kitchens, past the Great Hall and into her own tiny room where she closed the door and flung herself down on the bed. 

She lay there, still as a mouse, not sure what she was waiting for, her heart pounding inside her chest, partly from the excitement but mostly from running.

_The portraits._

The door creaked open. Ella didn't open her eyes, she let herself breath deeply in the way a heavily sleeping person does.

_The portraits._

Footsteps crossed the room – still she did not move. A hand pushed her hair behind her ear – she kept a steady rhythm as she breathed. The hand moved down to feel her breath, and then, apparently satisfied, touched her chest, just above her thumping heart………

She was slapped so hard across the face that she fell off the opposite side of her tiny bed. Tears in her eyes, she looked up – into the face of her half-brother. 

"You," he snarled. He grabbed her by the front of her dress and yanked her forward. "What were you doing in my room?"

She could only stare at him, helplessly. He slapped her again. "Tell me!" he demanded. 

But she wasn't going to betray Harry – she wouldn't – she would _not_…

"I –" she stammered. "I –"

"_What_, you disgusting piece of filth?"

"I was only – taking your things up…"

"You aren't allowed in my room for _any _reason and you know it! Come on girl – what were doing in there?" He was shouting at her now, his beautiful face an inch from hers. 

She didn't say anything – she wouldn't betray Harry – not now, not after she'd found what he needed most, not when he was her only chance…

He slapped her once more, letting her fall to the ground. Her hands shot out to stop her head cracking on the stone floor. 

He stood over her, and bravely she looked back up at him. He knelt down, one knee pressing into her stomach, and she whimpered. 

His eyes suddenly shone with something other than fury as he touched her smarting cheek with one hand. 

"You'll do," he whispered. 

He got up, and left. After a full minute of lying there on the floor, she made to follow him through the door, only to discover that he had locked it. 

She pounded on the door, begging someone to let her out – but no one did. No one ever did. 

@C@I@N@D@E@R@E@L@L@A@

It was quite late when the door finally opened. She sat up in bed quickly. It was Cook, with a tray of wine in her arms and a disapproving expression on her face. 

"You're to take this up to Master Draco," she said, without meeting her eyes. 

Ella reached for her clothes. 

"No," Cook said. "He says you're to come as you are." 

Ella looked down at her thin nightdress. "But –"

But Cook never stood for buts. She escorted her all the way to the staircase and watched her after that, to make sure she went. 

Ella's hand trembled on the door handle, but she somehow managed to get it open without spilling any of the wine. 

He was there, waiting for her in the shadows of the room, dressed only in a dressing gown and a thin smile. He indicated that she was to put the tray down on the table. Each step was an effort but she managed to get within reach – the sooner she got rid of it the sooner she could go – 

_Click._

She looked around to see that Draco had crossed the room – and locked the door. 

She almost dropped the tray, but instead set it down with trembling hands. What had that letter said? 

_…you must commit an act of murder, rape, incestuous abuse… _

Oh god – he was going to kill her! She knew too much – he was going to kill her and take her body to his initiation ceremony. She was going to die after never leaving this house for seven or eight years… Harry would have taken her away…

She turned to face him, the thought of Harry making her bold. _There_ was something she knew and _he_ didn't, something she could cling to, even as he slid a knife between her ribs. 

He was smiling. He passed her, lifted the wine glass with one hand, and downed it all in a single gulp. 

Then he turned to look at her again. In the dimly lit room, his eyes – so like her own and yet so different – burned into hers. "Get on the bed," he said. 

"What?" she stammered. 

He hit her then, hard, across the mouth, and she tasted blood. She wheeled back to land awkwardly on the huge green bed. 

"Now, now, that won't do…" he said, in a singsong voice that was so full of poison it made her skin crawl. With one hand he pushed her all the way into the centre, then ripped the silk cover out from under her, so that only the sheets remained. 

_If you're going to kill me just do it,_ she thought desperately. _Just kill me quickly, _please_…_

She watched him as he removed the dressing gown. He wasn't wearing anything underneath it. 

She couldn't shut her eyes. He lay down next to her, his eyes never leaving hers, and suddenly she realised what he was going to do. 

_No, _she thought. _Oh God, please, no, this is worse than death…_

"You're afraid," he said, reaching out to take hold of the neck of her nightdress. "Good…"

The dress was only linen, and it ripped easily under his fingers. She wished she could move, but she was frozen in place, completely helpless. 

His hands were cold and spider-like as they caressed her half-formed breasts. They stroked and squeezed, and she gasped as his groping caused pain. 

"You think that hurts?" he growled. He raked her with his fingernails, and she screamed. 

He laughed. One hand stayed at her chest, while the other moved downwards, caressing first her stomach, then her belly… it was not the touch of one lover to another, but rather that of a butcher to a cow he is about to cull…

His eyes left hers as he moved further, and she shut her own eyes tight, still unable to move. His fingers stroked and twirled in the coarse hair that covered her groin. Then he tugged, and she shrieked in pain, trying to fight him off with her hands, but he only laughed and slapped her back down again. 

His fingers fondled the folds of skin between her legs, seeking entrance. He rammed suddenly, and she screamed again – but no one answered her screams. No one ever would. 

He raked between her thighs. She gasped helplessly as he played with the hair again, twirling it, pressing up her passageway until the tears streamed helplessly down her cheeks. Somehow she managed to gasp out words. "No – _please _stop – _please_…"

The hand fondling her breasts moved up to cover her mouth as he let go of her groin and heaved himself on top of her. He was heavy – even if her mind had allowed her to move his weight would prevent it now.

Ai God – she could _feel _it, pressing up against her groin. _God help me. Please – someone help me…_

He moved his hand inside her mouth, forcing her teeth apart. With his other hand he stroked her tongue – the hand that moments before had been at her vaginal passage. She could taste her own fluids on his fingers, her own blood…

_Bite down,_ her mind screamed at her. _Bite him – make him stop…_

But she couldn't do it, couldn't force her teeth to pierce his skin. His fingers moved farther down her throat, making her choke until he removed them. He traced patterns on her cheeks and forehead with his wet fingers, smiling all the time, his eyes fixed on hers. 

He lowered his head. His tongue caressed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her neck. Slowly he licked in a spiral around her right breast, sucking vampire-like at her nipples. He bit down, and she screamed again – but he only pressed harder, sucked harder…

_It's like he's eating me,_ she realised. _He's an animal._

"What's the matter?" he asked into her chest as his legs moved against her. "Don't you like it?"

She endured it for as long as she could, and then she blacked out.

@C@I@N@D@E@R@E@L@L@A@

When she awoke she was still lying naked in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. One of his cold, spidery hands still rested on her right breast as he lay beside her. 

Memory flooded, but she had no tears left to cry. All she could do now was try to get away while he slept. 

She tried to slide away under his hand, but at her movement his hand tightened and she gasped in pain. 

"Where do you think you're going?" his sweet voice asked.

She turned her head. His eyes were wide open, staring at her. "I… I have work…" she stammered. 

"I don't think so," he muttered. He walked his fingers along her chest to her other breast, tracing circles around the centre. "You're not going anywhere…" His hand moved up to her lips, then tucked her hair behind her ear. "Very pretty…" he said, in the tone a farmer uses when examining a bitch puppy.

He patted her on the breast, then rolled out of bed and tugged on his clothes. She never looked away from him, her heart was burning with hate and it was all she could do to stop herself dying right there on the spot from emotion. 

As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned to look at her, and smiled. He grabbed the bloodstained sheets and pulled them out from under her, rolling them into a ball and stuffing them into a bag along with her tattered and bloodstained linen nightdress.

Still her gaze did not waver. 

"Stop staring at me, damn you," he snarled. 

Still she stared. 

He reached down and slapped her hard across the face. "I said, stop staring at me," he said softly into her ear. He rolled a hand down her side and onto her buttocks, where he stroked her gently. Her skin crawled, and she shuddered. At this movement he hit her in the stomach and she curled up into a ball. 

"What's the matter?" he spat. "You unworthy rat – any woman would die to spend the night with me! You cannot do anything but enjoy my touch!" He spat on her face, hands balled into fists. 

"You will enjoy it!" he demanded, and then reached down to stroke her breasts again. He kissed her on the lips, his eyes shining with malice, and then he whispered, "You will enjoy it – or you will die."

And with that, he left the room, locking both the portrait and the door behind him. 

She lay there, naked, unprotected, trying to think of anything except what he had done to her. Liselle had explained what she could to her, but she could hardly recall any of it now. Could he have made her pregnant? She was only thirteen – but did age even matter, or was it something else? 

Would he kick her out onto the street if he found her with child – like his father had done to her mother – or would he just kill her? Did she even care? She knew she would rather be starving or dead rather than in his arms, but also knew that she couldn't bear to carry his child. 

And hadn't Liselle said, in any case, that there would be danger in childbirth if anyone as closely related as they were made a union?

She shuddered. A union – with _him_ – she could hardly believe what he had done. And would do again, surely, for hadn't he said, 'You _will_ enjoy it?'

No. Never again. She wouldn't survive another night like that one. In her heart she knew that if he wanted to he would do it, but in her mind she thought there had to be a way to stop him – to get away…

Harry would help her get away. But Harry had surely missed her by now – twice – it was almost noon. Harry would forget about her in the end, and she'd be alone and defenceless against the boy that now made her a servant to his every lust and desire. 

The door clicked. Ella grabbed the green silk cover and held it against her, hiding her nakedness. 

It was Annie Mumpus. She carried a basket of laundry in her hands, and she worked quickly to put it all away in the master wardrobe. Not once did she show surprise at Ella's presence in Draco's bed, nor did she look at her until she turned to leave, the empty basket hanging from her hand. 

"Filthy whore," she hissed, and spat on her, missing by inches but retaining the curled fists and leering mouth that went with the gesture. "You aren't worthy of him."

And she left, taking away the old tray of wine and leaving a new one. For a moment Ella felt hope surge through her, but then she heard the click of the lock. 

No one ever answered her screams.

@C@I@N@D@E@R@E@L@L@A@

"Where _is _she?" Harry whispered. He was lying atop the wall again, with Alastor Moody balancing beside him. 

"Potter, if I find out this is a joke…"

"_No_, sir! Malfoy must have stopped her!" 

"Any luck?" called Ron's voice from below, where he was waiting with Mr. Weasley and the rope sling. 

"It's almost noon," growled Moody. "We ought to wait until tomorrow."

"_No_," Harry protested again. "We _have _to wait – I _know she'll come…look!"_

It wasn't her. It was Draco Malfoy, coming out of the manor with two servants, whom he dismissed quickly, and a large bag. 

"What's he doing?" Harry asked, more to himself than anyone else, but Moody heard.

"I dunno, lad. Let's follow him."

"But – Melody –"

"The girl isn't coming. Not today. Maybe this way we'll find out why."

"Fine."

They dropped off the wall, using the tree branches as support. 

"Round to the front," Moody murmured. 

All four of them made their way as stealthily as they could to the other side of the house.

"Cloaks," Moody whispered.

Harry whipped out his invisibility cloak, brought along to hide him, Ella, and Ron, and Moody pulled out his, large enough to hide both him and Mr. Weasley.

Harry passed Ron his half of the cloak, and they set off after Malfoy, just visible in the distance. 

He stopped in a dark alley, and the others slowed their pace to catch up with him without arousing suspicion. 

"Mr. Malfoy?"

They jumped when the heard the deep voice of a man in a black cloak, almost invisible in the shadows of the alley. 

"That's me. Are you my guide?"

"I am."

"Prove it."

The man pulled his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing a black mark on papery white skin. 

"Very well."

"Have you done what was asked of you?"

"Yes," Malfoy replied. 

The man smiled. "Prove it."

Malfoy upended the bag he was carrying. He held up first a sheet, then a tattered nightgown, both of which were stained with something that looked horribly like…

"Blood," concluded the man, sniffing it. "Who?"

"My half sister," said Draco with a smirk. 

Harry gagged, and Ron caught him, putting a hand over his mouth. 

"A tasty little morsel, but hardly wholly satisfying. Still, it was the best I could do on such short notice."

"Is she still alive?"

"Yes. I find her amusing."

The other man laughed. "What irony. Come with me, young Master Malfoy. You shall be entwined into the fold."

He led Malfoy away. 

Harry, Ron, Moody and Arthur did not move. 

"He…" Ron stammered. "He…" 

"He raped her!" Harry exclaimed. "And her only thirteen at most!"

"The filthy bastard," Moody growled.

"I'll kill him," Harry announced, making to go after him, pulling out his wand. "I'll kill him."

"No you won't," said Ron, pulling him back. "What about Ella?"

"_Melody."_

"Whatever. She needs us, Harry. You heard. She's still alive."

Harry shook Ron off, but made no further attempt to go after Malfoy. "We've got to help her," he said. "Now."

"No time," said Moody. "Death Eater initiations take half hour. Max."

Harry didn't want to know how Moody knew this. "Right," he said. "

Then it's time to get help."

@C@I@N@D@E@R@E@L@L@A@

It was perhaps hours before the entrails of sanity began to creep back into her mind. She decided she wasn't going to lie here like a broken doll. 

There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom. Clutching the green silk bedcover around her, which was heavy and awkward, she entered. 

This bathroom was just as elegant as the bathroom, with magically transmitted water for the bath. Pipes did not exist in the Malfoy household. 

Casting aside the bedcover and closing the door firmly, she filled the stone basin with water at the touch of a lever and climbed in. It was steaming hot, and she winced. Her baths were usually freezing cold.

She scrubbed at her skin hard, trying to get rid of all traces of _him_, to cleanse herself of his touch. 

When she was satisfied she climbed out again and wrapped herself once more in the silken cover. 

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. There were bruises starting to rise on her cheeks, but otherwise she looked clean, which was all that really mattered. 

Wrapping the cover around herself again she went back out into the bedroom and opened the enormous wardrobe. She didn't dare touch any of _his_ things but pulled down a clean bed sheet and tied it around herself like a toga. 

Satisfied, she went to window to look out. It was a good view. She could see – _she could see a snowy white owl flying towards her. _

Startled, she drew back, and the owl flew inside the room, dropping a letter. The owl left, and she picked the letter up. 

Melody – 

_I know what he did to you. I'm coming back tonight, with help. Try to get out of the house by midnight and get to our spot. _

_H._

Ella's heart beat furiously. A letter from Harry! He was _still_ trying to save her! But how was she to get out of the house at midnight? 

It was impossible. Her heart sank back into its melancholy position and she wandered back into the bathroom. She opened the cupboard above the sink, running her unseeing eyes over the various bottles and boxes on the shelves. There was one that looked out of place – a black box. 

She reached to pull it out – but it was stuck. When she pulled harder – _the shelf came away with it_. 

Hastily she clutched it to herself to stop it falling, putting it carefully down on the floor. She looked at the space where the shelf had been. And smiled.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Draco Malfoy sauntered into his own room forty-five minutes later, with an insane grin on his face. He was on his way. He was going to the top. 

Seeing the new tray of wine he took an enormous swig from the glass and set it back down, spilling it all over the sides. 

His eyes turned to the girl, who was watching him. She was dressed in a sheet, and she looked terrified. 

_Perfect_.

He moved towards her, swaying with glee and anticipation. "Have you decided?" he slurred, pushing a chestnut wave out of her face. "Have you decided to love me?"

She backed away until she was against the wall. He stroked her cheek, and then caressed her neck, reaching in to kiss her tenderly on the lips. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Ella closed her eyes. She was afraid again, but not so afraid as she had been the night before. His grip on her neck became painful as he kissed her again, his tongue seeking out the crevices at the back of her throat. His breath was sour. 

Bile rose, but she kept it down. Struggling not to be sick, she ducked under and away from him. 

"Come," he said, reaching for her. "Let's dance."

He backed her up to the bed – she tripped and fell to the floor. He knelt, pinning her to the ground with one knee. He stroked the sheet where she had wrapped it around her breasts. Then he moved his hand down to stroke her belly, softly, long, drawn out movements that left a shiver in her soul.

The room was lit only by the setting sun, making the green wall hangings and floorboards appear a dark, blood red. 

Slowly he climbed on top of her, pressing her back into the hard wood of the floor. He stroked her hair and kissed her again, the sourness of his breath reaching down her throat so that she couldn't breath until he pulled away. 

He looked down on her with those horrible, piercing blue eyes beneath shadowed eyelids, his lips parted seductively as his pleasure intensified. He began to undulate slowly upon her, his cadence increasing as his pleasure began to build.

Suddenly he stopped. He lifted himself with his hands and rolled roughly off her. Ella scrambled up against the bed as he coughed on all fours. His head rolled up to fix her with an accusing stare. 

She watched in horror as his eyes glazed over, slowly. "Filthy… bitch…" she heard him say – and then he collapsed on the floor. 

Hurriedly she heaved him over to the bed and pulled back the cover she had replaced. Limb by limb she heaved him up and onto it fully clothed, then pulled the cover half over him. 

Now for the difficult part. Screwing her face up with disgust at what she had to do, she undid the clasps on his robes, one by one. She would have ripped it but she wasn't in the right state of mind.

His closed eyelids scared her. She felt as though any second they would snap open and fix her with their horrifying gaze. 

She watched them fixatedly as she undressed him to his underwear, and then pulled the cover all the way over him. This way anyone looking into the room would see nothing except his bare shoulders and head.  

She stuffed the robes in the laundry basket, and then checked the clock on the wall. Liselle had taught her how to tell the time – it was half past seven, and getting darker every second. 

She climbed gingerly into the bed beside her unconscious brother to wait for midnight.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

In the end she couldn't wait. At eleven o'clock she climbed out of bed, checked Draco's breathing for telltale quickness, then peeked out of the door. 

The manor was dark. Every soul was asleep. Barefoot, she stepped out of the room, closed the door and padded carefully across the landing. 

Once there, she looked down at the stairs. Ah. Here perhaps was a problem. The stairs were famous in the house for being the creakiest area of the floorboards in the entire place. 

Gingerly she stepped onto the first one. It creaked, very quietly. Hissing, she pulled her foot back and stood still, breathing heavily. Nothing stirred. She tried again, in a different spot. It didn't creak. She went on. 

It was very slow going down the stairs, as she had to test each one before stepping on it. She found it better if she stood on the red carpet, although the servants were under strict orders never to step on it – the carpet was reserved for Malfoys and their guests _only_.

When she reached the front door she was faced with a problem. An enormous padlock was affixed between the double doors, and there was no way she would be able to move it, let alone open it. 

She waited until she was fixed with an idea. Then she made for the laundry room on the next floor, which was never locked and had a very large window. 

She grabbed six sheets and tied them together in knots. She lifted the latch and pushed the sheets through the window as one, where they unravelled all the way down to the ground with a couple of feet spare. She tied one end tightly around a protruding beam, wedging it between some split wood to make sure.

Praying silently she waitin

Praying silently, she lowered herself out of the window into the dark night, her feet scraping painfully against the rough stone of the wall. 

Ella had never even heard of mountain climbing. She dropped and scrambled down her makeshift rope, occasionally twisted around in midair so that her back bumped against the wall. Once or twice the sheets dropped a couple of millimetres and she froze, but it didn't give way until she was three feet from the ground. 

With a suppressed yell she landed on her side in the flowerbeds. Jumping up, she left the sheets in the dirt and ran through the damp grass to the back of the house, slipping a couple of times but never giving up, never giving in, because that would mean that he would have her forever – and she would _never_ get another chance…

The washing line and kennels were within sight - she kept running. Gasping she flung herself into the shadow of the wall, clutching her sheet toga closer to her freezing, wet skin. 

"Melody?"

She looked up. It was him. "Harry?"

"Hold on – we've got a rope sling…"

He let down a rope tied into complicated knots, assisted by a man whose red hair was just visible in the moonlight. "Just climb into it, hold on tight…" 

She climbed into the sling and held on, feeling it lifting slowly off the ground and letting it carry her. Just a few more seconds, and she would be free.

Something stirred in the dark recesses of the kennels. One of the dogs was awake, it came out of the shadows and saw her moving, it started to bark – the other two woke and started barking too- there were shouts from within the house and lights flickered on…

"Faster!" Harry hissed to those behind him, pulling the sling. Ella felt a jolt as the sling picked up speed and she nearly fell out. 

She could make out one voice among the shouting from the manor – it was _his _voice, he was awake and he was going to find her…

"Got you!" Harry grabbed her and heaved her over the wall. They had ladders set up against the wall and he carefully nudged her onto one. The metal was cold on her bare feet and the dew she had collected nearly made her slip, but she made it down to the bottom and Harry hurried after her. 

She turned around. There were at least thirty men and women standing waiting for them in a semicircle. Now they stood watching as the red-haired man also descended and turned his eyes to Ella. 

She suddenly felt very self-conscious at her state of undress, and looked around at Harry for reassurance. It was dark, so she could not see his expression, but the moonlight enveloped her and she knew he could see her clearly. 

"Thank you," she whispered. 

"I know what the bastard did to you," Harry growled. "He'll pay for it."

One of the woman, a bustley lady with brown hair and Harry's red-haired friend trailing behind her, put a cloak around her shoulders. Ella hugged it, grateful for the added warmth. "Is it true he raped you, dear?" the woman asked quietly, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. 

Ella couldn't help it, she burst into tears, but the woman did not slap her or push her away. She enveloped her in a warm hug, wrapping her arms around her as would a mother. 

"They're coming," said one of the men. All of the watchers faded into the shadows. The woman who held her kissed her on the forehead and went with them, as did the red-haired man and Harry's friend. Ella made to follow them, but Harry touched her arm. "No," he said. "Wait here."

It was only the two of them now, standing alone against the wall, the ladders in plain view, moonlight gleaming off their metal surface. "Harry, I can't, he'll find me –"

"Hush. Wait." Harry drew her to him until they were close. This was not the touch of her cold-hearted brother, this was the touch of her saviour, her enemy's enemy, and she let him hold her as the light of lanterns rounded the corner and _he _came, surrounded by a dozen footman – all with extended wands. 

"Potter?" Malfoy spat. "What the fucking hell – give her back – now!"

"I don't think so, Malfoy," said Harry. 

"She drugged me!" said Malfoy. "That little bitch drugged me!"

"All the better," said Harry.

"Potter, that girl is my property. Give her back – now, or you die. Mind, you'll _probably_ die anyway…"

"Property?" Harry growled. He pushed Ella behind his back and stood defiantly in front of her, between her and the thirteen wands. _Such bravery_…

"Yes, she is your property, isn't she Malfoy? You take her into your home, feed her and clothe her. You give her the name of a fairytale slave girl. You force her to work for you with no reward. You abuse her and rape her. And you have the right to do all that because she's your _property_, am I right?"

"As usual, Potter," said Malfoy lazily. "That's what I'd call a practical assessment."

"And that's what I'd call a confession, Malfoy," said a voice from the shadows. The thirty wizards and witches emerged from the side streets, their wands all aimed at the group accosting Harry and Ella. "Drop your wands please… that's the way… now you're all under arrest…"

Ella didn't hear the rest of the man's speech. She was too busy sobbing into Harry's robes as he soothed her. _He'd _looked at her… in such a way… those eyes – those horrible staring eyes…

"Did you really drug him?" Harry asked. 

"Yes," she whispered. "Will I get in trouble?"

"No," Harry said with venom. "What with?"

"A sleeping potion. I found it behind a fake shelf in his bathroom cabinet. There were all sorts of horrible things in there."

"You should have killed him." 

Ella looked up into his eyes, and saw real malice there in those sparkling green eyes. She drew back, suddenly afraid, but then his expression turned from hatred to concern. 

"Melody? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"I know," she said. The brown-haired woman came forward again, and led them around the corner, away from the Aurors. 

"What will happen now?" Ella asked. 

"You'll come and stay with us, dear," said the woman, softly. "You can call me Molly. You can share with my daughter Ginny, she's about your age."

"Really?" asked Ella, looking up at Harry for reassurance. "I really never have to go back?"

"Really," said Harry, hugging her again. "And I'll write to Dumbledore and ask if you can start Hogwarts."

Ella stopped still, staring at him. "Hogwarts?" she breathed. 

"Yes," said Harry, drawing her even further away from the house she had lived in for half her life. "Let's go home."

And Melody went home.

THE END 


End file.
